The Days of High King Peter, the Short
by Lepidus Animus
Summary: After the defeat of Jadis, the Pevensies are a bit used to curses. The most current one just happens to be. . . a little more unusual, is all.
1. Chapter 1: Amidst the Battle

**Authors Note: **Hi everybody! It's been a long, long time since I've written fanfiction, so please forgive me if I'm a little (very) rusty. This hasn't been betaed, but if anyone's interested, please let me know. I'm desperate, folks.

**Disclaimer: **Your kidding, right?

_Chapter 1:_

_Amidst the Battle_

It had all started, Edmund mused later, as these sorts of things usually did; Peter had once again taken nobility and honor to a whole new level of stupidity.

It was almost six months exactly after the Pevensie's coronation. The young kings and queens had been thrown immediately into court life, helping to revive Narnia's economy and booster her people's moral after a hundred years of tyranny. While Lucy and Susan worked from within Cair Paravel to restore the ancient castle and set up some form of rules and regulations for a government, Edmund and Peter, along with General Oreius and a band of his most trusted soldiers, had been combing the regions on the outermost edges of Narnia for the last remnants of the White Witch's army.

In the end, though, the Fell Beasts found them instead.

The first warning of trouble had been a rather loud crash of underbrush seconds before a monstrous boar launched out of its hiding place. A satyr's arrow quickly dispatched it, but by that time a dark cloud of beasts was already descending from the brush.

The Narnian soldiers had moved to meet the opposing force with almost frightening precision, gracefully eliminating the Witch's forces without so much a word from Oreius or the kings. The great general himself plunged down the middle of his soldiers, determined to meet the foe head on. Meanwhile, the two kings fought back to back, protecting one another.

Gradually, the battle spread out as the Narnians made slow but steady progress. Edmund, parrying a blow from the heavy axe of a Black Dwarf, momentarily stumbled when he stepped backwards into empty space. He brought his sword up, separating the head of the axe from the handle, leaving his enemy defenseless. After taking care of the dwarf, he whirled about, taking in the blank spot behind him. _Peter. _Edmund's eyes roamed the battlefield, desperately searching for a flash of golden hair or a glimpse of a red and gold tunic.

A knot of fear blossomed in Edmund's stomach as he spotted his brother several feet away, viciously battling with a minotaur. Though he and Peter both were rapidly progressing in their swordsmanship, the hideous monster, easily twice Peter's size with an extra sword to boot, was slowly winning. Peter barely dodged a swipe of one of the large broadswords, and Edmund, snapping out of his momentary trance, rushed off to help his brother. Before Edmund could get there, however, a cloaked figure staggered out into his path.

It spun around, and its horrible face, lined with what could only be described as scales and a horrible, beak-like protrusion, told Edmund it was a hag. He absentmindedly swiped at the creature, his focus again shifting toward Peter, but to his surprise, his sword merely bounced off the air surrounding the hunched-over figure. He vaguely recalled Mateel, a highly ranked faun in the army, explaining the various creatures under the Witch's aid, and what to expect from each one. _Hags you need to watch out for, King Edmund. They won't come at you with a weapon, and they're easy enough to kill if they're defenseless. But I've never seen a hag that wasn't good with magic – especially in the Witch's army – and that's when they're dangerous. They'll put up barriers around themselves, and twirl their fingers and mutter, killing you as pretty as you please, with you hacking at empty space the whole time._

The hag was grinning at him, mumbling something under her breath. _Oh, dear, _Edmund thought, slowly backing away. He knew he couldn't kill the hag presently, but Mateel had failed to tell Edmund exactly what he _could _do if he ever faced one. It would be the first thing he asked when he returned to the Cair.

If he returned to the Cair.

The hag was cackling between her words, obviously intent on showing Edmund her glee. _At least someone's happy. _Edmund continued to slowly walk backwards, unsure if her spell would be effective from far away. The hag's low, cracking voice reached him, and Edmund caught a bit of the incantation.

"– let the flesh shrivel from their shrinking bones,

let them be choked by the livery of their lord,

let the pendulum of time stab them through the heart,

let the sands of time ravage their mind– "

_Great, _Edmund mused. _Sounds_ _like a nice, slow, painful death._

The hag's cackling had become so loud that it took Edmund a minute to realize that she had stopped chanting. But that was undeniably what had happened when she raised her gnarled, twisted finger at him as if it was death itself.

Then she let her finger fall.

There was a great burst of grey light from her hand, and the light proceeded directly towards Edmund as if pulled by some unseen force. It showed no sign of stopping, yet Edmund didn't feel the need to step away, even if there had been anywhere to run. He had made his peace with death at Beruna. He regretted having to leave his siblings, but if that was what Aslan wanted, so be it.

The shimmering grey spell sped at him, and Edmund prayed.

_Dear Aslan, please be with Peter and Lucy and Susan, I know they'll be – _

His thought was cut off by the press of a warm body beside him, and then Edmund was flying through the air. He hit the ground hard, but his vision, flickering though it was, immediately recognized the mop of yellow hair he had been searching for earlier. The peace he had felt moments before regarding his own death fled, leaving cold fear in its wake.

_Oh Aslan, no. . ._

He rolled Peter over, briefly noting the singed spot on his brother's right shoulder. Peter blinked groggily, but as his gaze focused on Edmund, he glared at his younger brother.

"Edmund, you dolt! What were you thinking? You would have been killed, you bloody –"

Edmund, assured that his brother was alive for the moment, gently sat him up, ignoring his brother's unusually irate tirade. "Peter, not now. . . . We've got bigger problems. Do you know how to kill the hag?"

"What? Oh. Um. . ."

"Come on, Peter, now's not the time to forget!" The hag, noticing that her spell had not hit her intended target, was moving towards them, once again muttering quietly. Edmund inconspicuously shifted in front of his brother, who was too busy thinking to notice.

"Hags, right. Well. . ."

"Pete, think!" Edmund alternated between watching his brother's eyes, which were still a bit unfocused, and the hag, which was drawing closer. Peter continued to dig through his memories while the hag mumbled. She lifted her finger again, aiming at Edmund, but before it could fall, the hag let out a horrible scream before sliding to the ground. Lom, a dark-haired satyr, plunged his bloody sword into the heart of the writhing hag. "That," he gestured at the bottom of the hags cape, from which blood was steadily pouring, "is how you kill a hag, my lieges. Their shields can't quite reach their feet, so that's where you aim."

Edmund looked up at him, and noticed that only a handful of the Witch's creatures remained. The battle would surely be over shortly. "Thank you, Lom. I only wish I had known that _before_ she attacked."

Lom gave him a rueful smile and offered his hand. "Well you know for next time, my liege. Are you hurt?"

Edmund took the satyr's grip, pulling himself up. "I'm fine, but Peter. . ."

His older brother gave him a patronizing look. "Is fine, but is probably going to commit fratricide as soon as he gets up."

Edmund smiled cheekily at his brother. "After you saved me? Come on now, Peter."

Peter, attempting to push himself up, merely growled in response.

Edmund lifted an eyebrow at Lom. "Well, Sir Lom, I suppose we just have to make sure he doesn't get up, now don't we?" Even as he said this, he already had a tight grasp around Peter's wrist, pulling him off the ground.

Lom caught a glimpse of the scorch marks on Peter's mail. "Did the hag's spell hit you, my Lord?"

Peter glanced down at it, then shrugged. "It doesn't hurt. It hit my armor so I don't think it did anythi–"

Of course, because irony was a favorite patron of the Pevensies, Peter chose that moment to sway, passing out as his brother moved to catch him.


	2. Chapter 2: Pandemonium

**Author's Note: **Hi guys! Just to let you know, I'm still looking for a BETA if anybody's interested. I could really use some help. I'm not too thrilled with this chapter, but I've had it sitting for days and I still haven't found a way to improve it, so that's that, I guess. Please bear with me; I know it's a little boring, but this chapter sets up a lot of important groundwork. The idea's a little unoriginal, but I'm still having a lot of fun with it. Um, this is completely gen, too, if I hadn't mentioned that earlier. Oh, and please note the AN at the end.

_Chapter 2:_

_Pandemonium _

"Ivory. No, bone. Bone. Or maybe the alabaster. . ."

Lucy huffed, eyeing the distance between her current position and the door of the Cair's official "linen chambers." She and Susan had taken a break from their more pressing duties in order to focus on restoring the portions of the castle that had yet to be inhabited, but Lucy would have rather been dealing with affairs of state than what they were doing now. A plump, motherly Hen named Ro had gently suggested that the queens might pick out a color scheme – a _color scheme_, for Aslan's sake – for the eastern ballroom. Susan, calm, cool, no-nonsense Susan, was rarely so excited, and was completely unaware of her younger sister's boredom.

"But then I do like the ivory. . . Lucy, what do you think?" Susan gestured to the fabrics in front of her.

"I think," Lucy, somewhat snappish, began, "that they all look. Exactly. The. Same."

Susan clicked her tongue. "Lucy, this one's clearly darker. . . Oh my, this ecru is simply lovely!"

Ro, seeing the younger queen fidget, spoke up, her voice somewhat warbled from her sharp beak. "Queen Lucy, I know the dryads are working in the rose garden in the southern courtyard. Perhaps you would be better suited there?" The remark would have sounded pretentious coming from many, but Ro was a simple-hearted creature who, much like Lucy herself, only wanted people to be happy.

Lucy lit up immediately, giving the spotted Hen one of her infamous smiles. "That would be lovely! It's a beautiful day outside! Susan, you wouldn't mind terribly if I left you to finish this alone, would you?"

Susan smiled at her sister's enthusiasm. "Not at all. I'm sure the dryads would love your help. Before you go, make sure you change –" She broke off, realizing Lucy was already out the door.

* * *

"Ooooh, look good friends t'wards the Eastern Sea,

Over comes my lass as pretty as can be,

She's the loveliest sight you'll ever see,

My lovely, lovely lady."

Lucy, reaching for a distant clump of burdock, sang in her clear and vibrant soprano. The rose garden, though ignored during the Witch's reign, had managed to tenuously cling to life. The dryads were now trying to restore it to its former glory, weeding the surviving bushes and planting new ones where there was room. Iole, the beautiful Magnolia dryad that she was assisting, had taught Lucy a tune about a man and his beloved, and now Lucy was repeating it to commit it to memory.

"Very good, my queen. You learn quickly, and your voice is pleasing." Iole spoke softly, giving Lucy a slow smile. Lucy grinned in return.

"Thank you. It's a pretty song, Iole. Tell me, where does it come from?"

Iole handed her a trowel. "If you wouldn't mind, your Majesty, could you dig a hole there?" She indicated a spot to Lucy's left just as Susan had pointed to fabrics earlier. "I think a white bush would lovely over here; don't you?" Lucy gave a small nod and began to dig while Iole continued to search for weeds.

"The song is of Merfolk origin, I believe. The legend is that there once was a sailor – his name was Fechཽn, if I recall – who was thrown off his ship during a terrible storm. His shipmates found him later on an island, and he insisted that he had been rescued by a 'fair creature of the sea,' and that they had fallen in love and were betrothed. His friends dragged him screaming off the island, for Fechཽn was severely dehydrated and, in their eyes, clearly delusional.

"They went on their way and eventually wound up at Cair Paravel to trade in the market. This was during the reign of King Frank V, and Narnia was a thriving country, just as it will be under your Majesties rule. Fechཽn was quite hysterical at this point, pining for his love. He slipped away from the careful watch of his friends one day and headed straight towards the ocean. His companions followed, and Fechཽn, up to his knees in the water, began singing and pointing to the water. Sure enough, Maris, the most beautiful of all the Mermaid princesses, swam up to greet him with a kiss."

Lucy sighed at the story, hole forgotten. "And then what, Iole?

The dryad shook her head. "No one knows. The story ends there, I'm afraid."

Lucy smiled and began digging at the soft brown dirt. "I bet they got a happy ending. It would be horrible not to after all that."

"Indeed, my queen."

Lucy continued to dig, thinking on the fates of Maris and Fechཽn. She could ask one of the owls in the library later, surely they would know –

"Queen Lucy! Queen Lucy!" Lucy stood at the sudden and frantic sounding call of her name. A sleek Greyhound was bounding up the hill towards the mud-splattered queen.

Lucy, recognizing the fear in the Dog's eyes, unconsciously dropped the trowel clenched tightly in her palm. "Piripi," she said when the Greyhound had reached her. "What. . ."

He was panting from exertion. "Queen Lucy, . . .the armies . . . have returned." He caught his breath, then continued. "General Oreius requests that you bring your cordial immediately."

Lucy hid her fists in her skirt to hide their shaking. "Piripi. . . is it one of my brothers?"

"I know not, my Lady. I was sent directly here by the General."

She nodded, recognizing the importance of speed. Lucy turned and sprinted the castle. The journey to her room and the glistening diamond bottle was a blur, and the next thing Lucy knew she was on the front lawn, dashing towards the incoming troop of soldiers. Susan, who had obviously been informed as well, sprinted ahead of her.

The two queens slid to a stop in front of a grim-faced Oreius. He bowed briefly and looked at the youngest Pevensie. "Your majesty, the cordial?"

Lucy nodded wordlessly. The General turned around and headed into the crowd. After following for a few seconds, Lucy recognized a tow-headed figure among the soldiers. "Edmund!" Susan was screaming her brother's name, but Lucy was too frozen to move. She noticed the swollen knot on Edmund's head, the long gash on his stomach, the shocked, haunted look in his usually sparkling dark eyes.

She also noticed the hastily made litter that bore the High King.

She stepped forward, quietly taking in her eldest brother. His eyes were tightly shut, and he was writhing terribly, hissing and grinding his teeth in pain. She could see no wound, though Peter was a bit pale and there was a slight mark on the area of his tunic above his right shoulder. _It almost looks like a burn. . . _But besides the shaking and moaning, something seemed _wrong _about Peter. Lucy shook her head and continued towards her brothers.

"Edmund, what happened?" Susan's eyes flickered between her older and younger brothers.

"He," Edmund swallowed, looking as pale as Peter. "He jumped in front of a Hag's spell to save me."

Lucy stepped over to Peter's side, recoiling a bit when he jerked suddenly. She couldn't shake the feeling that Peter was still _off _somehow, and that frightened her. She hesitated for a moment, but then she remembered a time when she had chicken pox as a little girl. Peter had been her willing servant that week, spending so much time reading and talking to her that he caught the pox as well. She could at least do the same for him, and she was supposed to be Queen Lucy the _Valiant_, after all. She dauntlessly took another step forward, uncorking the cordial bottle and bringing it to her eldest brother's lips.

The effect was almost immediate. Peter's arched back slowly relaxed, and his grinding teeth unclinched. His breathing eased, and he appeared to have fallen unconscious. Susan hovered beside Lucy, stroking Peter's bangs away from his sweaty forehead. Edmund stood on the other side of the litter, watching the other king carefully.

"Oh, Peter. . ." Susan's hand froze as she crooned to the High King. "Lucy," Susan wheeled about, "Does he seem . . . smaller to you?"

Lucy once again looked over her brother and gradually noticed Susan had a point. The bulk of muscle Peter had acquired in Narnia had disappeared, and his hair seemed a bit longer, his bangs nearly brushing his eyebrows. Peter wasn't incredibly large for his age, but his hands and arms now seemed to be the same size as Susan's. It was, Lucy realized with a jolt, what she sensed wrong earlier. For the first time since coming to Narnia, Peter appeared to be more of a child than Lucy's big brother.

Edmund, who seemed to have calmed a bit when Peter did, studied his brother. "What? Smaller?" He blanched again. "Oh, Aslan, the curse! It must have been the Hag!"

Susan looked at Edmund. "What did she say? Do you think–"

She was cut off by a groan from the High King. Peter tossed his head, squinting his eyes and groaning again. Susan put a hand on his head and he slowly opened his eyes. "Mum?"

"Shh, Peter. It's me, Susan."

"Susan? Where's mum? What happened?"

Susan frowned with worry. "You got hurt in battle, Peter. Mum's not here, remember?"

"Battle?" Peter's tone was hesitant. "What battle? And what happened to Mum?"

"You and Ed went to find the last of the Witch's creatures. We're in Narnia, Peter, don't you remember?"

Peter looked at her wonderingly. "Narnia. . .what?"

A shocked silence followed and Lucy's head spun. _He doesn't know Narnia? Oh, Peter, what happened to you? _Her oldest brother had caught sight of the Faun guards bearing his litter and was now furtively trying to get away. Lucy realized that, in his addled state, Peter didn't recognize them.

_Or maybe_, Lucy thought with a jolt, _it's not because he's confused. . . _Susan's words about Peter seeming smaller rose unbidden in her mind. He even _sounded _younger, although that was partly due to his complete bewilderment. But Ed had thought it had something to do with a Hag's curse. . .

"Peter," she said, speaking for the first time, "what year is it?"

Her brother, Aslan be praised, didn't hesitate. "1939, Lu. Why?"

Susan let out a small gasp and Edmund was certainly paler than Peter now. Lucy felt her stomach sink.

Peter hadn't answered in Narnian time; he had answered as if they were still in England. And when the Pevensies had last been at the Professor's house, right before they had discovered Narnia, the year had been 1940.

**AN2: **I know I said this idea is unoriginal, but this is NOT an amnesia!fic, folks, I promise. Well, not really, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3: In Which Decisions are Made

**AN: **Wow, sorry it's taken me so long to update. I procrastinated, and the result is that this chapter isn't as good as it should be, but I'm too impatient to rework it anymore. Also, I feel like a complete ditz, because last time I a) totally forgot to put in a disclaimer, and, more importantly, b) not only didn't send out review replies like I used to on my old account, but completely forgot to thank all my lovely reviewers. So, now, thank you. Reviews are like gold to me. Also, a huge thank you to mari4212 for betaing this and putting up with all my whinyness.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize is the property of the wonderful C. S. Lewis. Anything you don't recognize, well, in all honesty that's probably not mine either.

_Chapter 3:_

_In Which Decisions are Made_

The shocked silence following Peter's statement somewhat lost its gravity when the eldest Pevensie, disoriented and frightened as he seemed, promptly fell asleep. Edmund liked to think that Peter felt reassured enough by the sight of his siblings to be able to rest, but Ed suspected that it had more to do with the exhaustion of the battle that had surely set in, not to mention the strain from being . . . _de-aged _for lack of a better term.

Ed continued to stare at the now sleeping Peter. If his older brother thought it was 1939, then that put Peter around twelve years old, only a little older than Susan had been when they first came to Narnia. Susan, he realized with a jolt, was now the_ eldest _sibling. Peter, having lost the staggering amount of growth he had gained within the last year, was as small as she was. He might still grow younger, too, if the curse continued, and then it would all be Edmund's fault if Peter. . .

_Enough. _Edmund pushed the thoughts out of his head, locking the guilt deep in his chest. He would deal with that when Peter was better.

Drawing himself out of his reverie, Ed looked around. Susan was hounding Oreius about the semantics of curses, her words fast and high pitched. Meanwhile, Lucy was making wild gestures, and from Ed gathered, she was attempting to explain the English time line to a Faun captain. It dawned upon him that the Narnians, used to a totally different system than the Pevensies, wouldn't understand the horrible significance of Peter's statement. The rest of the crowd was shifting uneasily, murmuring as to what exactly was wrong with the High King while said King continued to snore, blissfully unaware of the chaos around him.

Ed shook his head and cleared his throat. "Susan, Lucy, General Oreius, I think that. . ." Edmund trailed off, realizing no one could hear him over the din. He tried again, louder this time. "Susan, Lucy, Oreius. . ." The soldiers bearing Peter's litter had stopped and turned towards him, but that was all. He sighed and drew in a deep breath. "HEY!"

Well, he certainly had everyone's attention _now. _The sudden silence was punctuated by Peter's snores. "Now, as I was saying, Su, we should move him inside, don't you think?"

Susan agreed that yes, that would be the most sensible thing to do for now, and so, after settling the sleeping King in his chambers along with Lucy in case he should wake up, the remaining monarchs and their advisors called an impromptu council to "settle an emergency matter of state," which was really just a nice way to say no one had any idea what exactly was going on.

* * *

"'Shrinking bones?' Well, I think we can assume to know what that means."

Susan nodded as if to reassure herself, even though no one was disagreeing with her. Edmund, guilt firmly locked away and now solely focused on his brother, had started the meeting by telling what had happened to Peter and the little bit of the Hag's curse that the younger King had heard. There hadn't been much deliberation over the spell; as Susan had said, the curse, while not being overly specific, was fairly obvious in meaning.

"Yes, but what now?" Edmund tried not to look to eager as he spoke, but everyone else seemed to be ignoring the fact that Peter _had grown a year younger._

Nairo, – or at least Edmund thought his name was Nairo; six months was hardly enough time to learn the name of every single advisor in the court – one of the old and sage Owls that lived in a roost near the Cair and constantly advised the Monarchs, whether invited or not, spoke up. "Well, Majesty, we must find a way to break the curse. The High King cannot rule Narnia with no knowledge of Narnia."

Edmund opened his mouth to protest, because he knew that Peter could rule anything, from Narnia to Atlantis to Edmund's sock drawer; Peter was just that type of guy. Besides, Peter – and Susan and Lucy and certainly Edmund himself – had began their rule with little knowledge of Narnia, and no one had complained then, now had they? But before he could say anything, Susan spoke.

"How would we break the curse, Nairo?"

"Well, Good Queen," the Owl's feathers rustled, "I. . ."

"Nairo?"

"I'm not sure, your Highness."

The entire room seemed to sigh. Retsi, a sleek black Panther with a mind as sharp as her claws, commented "We would have to know more about the curse, your Highness. There are multiple variables that would affect the cure. The curse may have been stopped by the fire-flower, or it may have only been temporarily quelled. The curse may – "

"Wait." Even Edmund could hear the tint of fear in his voice. "You're saying that the curse could continue?" He knew that the curse would have to be broken for Peter to gain the last year back, but for Peter to continue getting younger. . .

"Yes, your Highness, I'm afraid so. Queen Lucy's cordial will stop the immediate effects of the spell, but it's possible that the Hag made the spell where, if given enough time, it could, ah, regroup, you might say, and attack the High King again."

Edmund wanted to yell – _Stop, please, that's enough! Lalalala, I can't hear you! – _but Retsi continued unperturbed. "There's also the possibility that the curse will become. . . immune to the cordial's effects. In fact, considering this is one of the Witch's Hags we're talking about – we suspect she strengthened them with magic, because they were unusually strong for Hags – I would almost bet on it. But the curse will probably only attack in stages, and not all at once, so that should give us a bit more time."

"So. . ." Susan began quietly, "We need to break the curse to make sure Peter isn't hurt anymore, but we can't go about breaking the curse until it hurts Peter again?"

Nairo nodded wordlessly.

Ed watched Susan carefully as she paled a bit. He wanted nothing more than to go and comfort her, and to be comforted by her. He stood up, preparing to adjourn the meeting. "Ladies, Gentlemen, I thank you for your most welcome advice in this matter. Now if you don't mind – "

Meard, a grouchy old Satyr, stood up as well. "I beg your pardon, King Edmund, but before we leave I would like to address another matter. With the High King. . . disabled, as he is, he is no longer fit to rule Narnia for the time being. Someone must be placed in his stead."

Edmund sighed into his palm. "Narnia has three sovereigns besides my brother, Meard, I think she will manage."

"Even so, my Lord, Narnia should have one figurehead to be the deciding voice on key matters."

Ed looked at the Satyr incredulously. Peter was _sick, _didn't he understand that? And really, what "key matters" could develop during the time it would take them to break the curse? The Satyr's eyes were squinting at the youngest King, a sure sign that he was ready to battle over the issue. "Fine," Ed retorted a little more harshly than he intended, "Susan is the next oldest; until Peter is well again she should have the final say. Su, you don't have a problem with that, do you?" Ed looked at his sister guiltily. He had spoken in haste, forgetting how frail she had seemed moments before, but really, Meard had been so obnoxious. . .

He needn't have worried. The pale Su had been replaced by Queen Susan, strait-backed and regal. She had a look on her face that was familiar; a look that said it didn't matter what _she _wanted, what mattered was what was best for Narnia. A look that said she would do whatever it took to protect her country.

"Of course, Ed." When Susan spoke, only Ed could hear the faint trace of fear beneath the confidence and reassurance her voice oozed.

He realized that the look on Susan's face was the same one that could often be found on Peter's.

Nearly an hour later, the meeting was finally finished. Susan and Edmund, both extremely weary, requested that dinner be sent up to the High King's chambers for the Monarchs.

They both then proceeded to head to Peter's room, Susan's arm draped lightly over Edmund's. "That," she said, "was ridiculously complicated. And really, can you believe that fussy old Satyr? 'Narnia needs one figurehead to decide on key matters.' Psshaw!"

As Susan continued to seethe, Ed spoke quietly, "You'll do great, Su."

Susan seemed to deflate, and her voice sounded weary. "You think so?"

"Of course I do! Peter's great at taking care of the country, and who's better at taking care of Peter than you? You're the natural choice. Besides," and here Edmund's voice began to sound weary as well, "It should only be for a few days."

"Oh Ed, I hope so. I couldn't bear it if Peter has to suffer long. Really, it seems nonsense to me, saying that they can't cure the curse until it acts up again –"

"Well," Edmund paused at the end ot the stairs, "I think they'll be getting their chance to find out."

For indeed, there was a great commotion down the hall where the Kings' chambers were, and they could clearly hear Lucy's dear voice calling loudly for her cordial.

* * *

**Next chapter: **Peter continues to grow younger, Ed has a heart-to-heart with his very confused brother, Susan gets caught up in court responsibilities, and Lucy is just generally cute and helpful.


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